


Guide Them Home

by Helioste (themedic_josef)



Series: The Collector [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I didn't know what to make them this is THAT spontaneous, I just found it so sad how many dead Ghosts are found or can be found, I just really like them both, I made up the Collector don't mind me, also the speaker and the collector are kiiind of a thing, ambiguous take on how dead Ghosts are passed on, be that platonically or romantically, gender neutral Collector, i don't know yet, not really - Freeform, they're just so small and cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 07:39:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12294450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themedic_josef/pseuds/Helioste
Summary: The Collector has one duty. Just the one. To bring the dead and the dying Ghosts back home, no matter what other Guardians may think of it.





	Guide Them Home

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I had a random thought today about dead Ghosts that you find in D1, and this is in turn set in D1, and I wondered what happens to those you find. Are they the only ones? Or are there hundreds more scattered around the system you don't know about? Do you just leave them there? Which, if you do, seems kinda. Idk. Not right, to me. So to settle this, I made up the Collector who goes out and brings dead and dying Ghosts back to the Tower for closure. Pleeeasseee don't light me up for how I've written the Speaker, I'm just a potato who's written his first Destiny fic (hint: it's THIS) late at night. Also I suggest listening to Imagine Dragons - Gold while reading this, it helped me get through it and created rather powerful imagery (for me at least) of the Collector and these Ghosts.

They regarded this Guardian as ‘the Collector’. There wasn’t anything particularly special about them, nothing that would make ordinary people sit up and take notice of them like glowing armour or a snazzy helmet. All the Collector wore were simple white robes, reminiscent of the Speaker’s or a Warlock's, but decorated with gold seams and sharp, geometric lines along the hems. Their helmet was of a similar style, a blank white with thin gold lines. Although it sounds as if they would be something everyone would notice, they were far from it rather surprisingly. To the citizens of the Last City, they were no one. To the Guardians of the Tower, however, they were the Collector. New Guardians often misinterpreted the meaning behind their title, often believing them to hoard interesting things they found in the field from the Golden Age, or prior. The duty of explaining what the Collector _really_ was fell to older Guardians, and it made each and every one uncomfortable talking about it. Usually most skirted the question, forcing the new-born Guardians to go to the Vanguard instead. But even _they_ couldn’t bring themselves to talk about it. The only one left for new-borns to ask was the Speaker, and he would gladly educate them on the matter but in a rather sombre tone.

 _“The Collector collects dead Ghosts.”_   The Speaker would say, watching the looks of horror spread across the new-borns’ faces one by one. _“And gives them a proper send-off, one their Guardians didn’t get the chance to.”_

And then came the questions. Multitudes of questions.

“ _No, the Traveller didn’t appoint them to this position.”_

_“No, they aren’t depressed.”_

_“Yes, they are a Guardian.”_

_“Yes, they have their own Ghost.”_

_“Yes, they help Ghosts that are clinging to life let go. They help them move on, pass beyond, and return their Light to the Traveller.”_

The questions never ended, not naturally, not without some form of interruption. Often they were called to missions, called to file reports, called to carry out patrols. Other times, the Collector themselves would walk in with their newest arrivals. A hush would fall over the room, all Guardians’ heads turning to them in silent horror and fear. They would all watch, hawk-eyed, as the Collector carried the shell of a Ghost in their hands to the Speaker. A silent nod would be exchanged between the two as the Collector would carry on to stand in front of the great mechanism that spun slowly. The Guardians would feel a tug at their Light, their Ghosts would summon themselves and watch as another of their fallen family was released. They would watch the burnt-out shell crackle with tiny gold arcs, before gradually each panel would disintegrate and be carried by a gentle breeze skyward. It would twist occasionally, bending and shifting and shimmering until there was no frame left in the Collector’s hands, until there was nothing but a wisp of golden arcs and flakes that crackled and shimmered no matter the time of day. They would all watch until there was nothing left to see, watching the gold wisps head to the sky and disperse as the Light the Ghost had carried returned to the Traveller once more.

The silence these spectacles held was always palpable, only broken by the Collector turning and nodding again to the Speaker before leaving once more to head back to the field. The Speaker hardly found it unsettling anymore, turning back to the gaggle of new-borns that often had tears streaking their cheeks and continuing to explain the Collector’s role to them. When he was finished, the Guardians left feeling numb and holding their Ghosts just a little closer to them as if drifting too far away would take them away forever.

Between new-borns coming to ask him about the Collector, the Speaker would see them come and go frequently with a frankly sad amount of Ghost shells in their accompaniment. He idly recalls a time when the Collector once brought over _twelve_ shells back with them. They didn’t say anything that day, and he didn’t ask where they had come from to have that many with them. The Speaker just watched the Collector send each Ghost off one by one, watched the golden wisps make their way home again, watched how calm they appeared on the outside while he knew a storm must have been raging inside.

When the Collector had finished with the last Ghost, they had remained there for some time, just watching the wisps travel and find their way back to the Traveller. The Speaker had then joined them, both standing side by side in comfortable silence. It hadn’t quite been mourning, more remembering the good those Ghosts had done with their Guardians, no matter who they had been nor what they had done in detail.

 _“Does it get to you?”_ The Speaker had asked them, not looking at the Collector until the last wisp had dispersed before turning his head to them. There had been a moment of further silence, the Collector almost contemplating their answer.

 _“Not always.”_ They replied, their voice soft and calm and soothing. It helped with the dying Ghosts that struggled to let go, the Speaker supposed. _“Does it get to you?”_

The Speaker thinks about his answer briefly, watching the Collector turn and face him slowly. The way they moved was almost graceful, fluid and relaxing. Often the Speaker pondered why almost no other Guardian were friends with the Collector, before recalling their nature and what they did on the daily.

_“Not always.”_

The Collector had given a soft noise, almost like a chuckle.

_“Not much fazes you anymore, does it?”_

_“Not quite, friend, not quite.”_

A comfortable silence had settled over them again, both facing one another and both still until their hands found one another’s. Their fore-helms came to rest against the other’s, eyes no doubt closed behind them as they had taken comfort, reassurance in the other’s presence.

Few Guardians ever realised the loneliness such a duty presented to the Collector, but the Speaker did. He always understood the burden this Guardian had taken on, and had strived to lift the crushing loneliness as best his role allowed him to. Yet in quiet moments such as those, where they could share such little contact undisturbed, were treasured by the Collector. No one could quite hope to understand why they did what they did. After all, even merely talking about a dead Ghost brought great discomfort to everyone present, so it was understandable they all avoided them like the Darkness incarnate walked among them. The only thing that mattered to the Collector in the end was that they were able to bring peace to so many fallen Ghosts, bereft with grief and suffering that the Collector could just _feel_ in their shells. The dutiful little machines deserved release from that, deserved a chance to pass on and return to the Traveller. The Collector could only wish that when, one day, it is their turn to pass too, that someone else would be willing to take up the role they had created. It wasn’t something that could be asked of a Guardian, it had to be done out of choice. It wasn’t an official role, like each of the Vanguards were, and thus could not be forced onto anyone.

_“I need to go, Speaker. More Ghosts call.”_

_“I know. Guide them home.”_

_“I will."_

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, day after I posted this. Maybe comment below who would be interested in another piece concerning the Collector? Maybe detailing their work in the field? Their relationship with the Speaker? The Vanguard's thoughts on their role? Or maybe some Guardians being brave enough to ask them about what they do? Leave a suggestion for one of these, or another idea, if you're interested! :) :)


End file.
